


Served With Love

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Italy Unpacked (TV) RPF
Genre: Dining, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship, Speaking in Code, Subtle flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-28 03:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: The differences in the ways in which we show our love for one another is an interesting thing - and, as an Englishman, Andrew's ways of showing his love are bound to be more reserved and subtler than that of his Italian counterpart - and, in public, even more so. But, in Giorgio's busy, crowded restaurant, they discover a coded method of communicating with each other, discussing their love through items on the Locanda Locatelli menu.





	Served With Love

**Author's Note:**

> Italian phrases beta'd by the wonderful Mcicioni - thank you x
> 
> *~*~*~*
> 
> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

As he stared out of the large glass windows, having just closed the door on today's lunchtime service, he watched people's feet shuffling through the rain, their reflections distorted in the puddles, light refracting as it bounced off of the wet pavement - Marylebone was busy as usual, in spite of the weather. And it had really surprised Giorgio how much he'd come to love this cold and gloomy country over the years, but nothing had surprised him more than the love he'd come to discover for a particular Englishman. "Isn't it funny..." he pondered to himself, "...how the word 'menu' spells out 'me and you'?" And how it _had_ earlier. He glanced over to the now empty table:

"I recognise that grey mane of 'air anywhere," a voice had boomed from behind where Andrew was seated, much to the momentary fright of the other diners. The art historian span around in his chair to see Giorgio practically running towards him. He engulfed him in embrace, placed a kiss to his cheek. It was not unusual behaviour for Giorgio, who was known for his tactile nature and bear hugs, but Andrew came across a tad reluctant and felt that, given the intimacy of their relationship - a _secret_ side to their relationship, of course - perhaps they should be more reserved in public.

The way in which he nervously shrugged off Giorgio's affections made this all too clear, and the younger man released him, feeling rather dejected. "Why didn't you tell me you was 'ere?" he sat down opposite him.

"I know you're a very busy man."

"I am _never_ too busy for you, Andrew!" This somewhat provoked the desired reaction - Graham-Dixon appeared more relaxed again and less worried about things. However, his eyes suddenly flew open in alarm, startled as Locatelli rubbed a thumb over the back of his hand. As far as he was concerned, Giorgio was sailing too close to the wind; they were sitting together in a bustling restaurant - _Giorgio's_ restaurant - under the watchful glance of a thousand prying eyes, and at least a hundred smartphone cameras. He slowly retracted his mildly trembling hand.

"Why don't you help me choose something from the menu?" Andrew cleared his throat. Giorgio understood; Andrew had seen the Locanda Locatelli menu many times, and he'd tried almost everything on it - this was simply a way for them to stay in one another's company, and carry on talking in a way that was _safe_.

"Well... Something to'a... start, maybe?" came the response. "What about the burrata?" he offered, creating an immediate blush and coy smile from his sometimes co-host, who could think of nothing but the time Giorgio dangled the stringy curds above his mouth, hoovering them up with a devilish expression - then peeling more away from the white creamy ball of cheese and feeding them to Andrew, allowing him to suck the taste from his fingers - the ultimate indulgence of being fed such delectable food from such a gorgeous man. "If you are looking for samthing 'earty, we 'ave the 'Calamari ripieni alla griglia' - or, maybe if you are looking for samthing more delicate, we 'ave the 'Insalata autunnale' - _Autumn Salad._"

No - Andrew didn't like that idea; he didn't need _reminding_ that another spring and summer had passed them by, and neither of them had found the time to truly see one another again this year - the leaves had sprouted, become green, and had started to turn an earthy shade of brown once more - and Christmas was practically knocking on the door. The Italian must have seen the gleam of sadness in his friend's eyes, for Andrew could not stop himself - just for one millisecond - from grimacing. Giorgio's delivery fluctuated slightly when he suggested, "As for pasta, we have 'Linguine all’astice' - the Cornish lobster, Andrew - is'a very good."

"The thing about the lobster... I find," Andrew began, swallowing, "Is - that it's so very sweet and delicious by itself, yes... but it really needs that tomato, garlic and chilli combination to bring it to life, don't you think?" And Giorgio met with his sad gaze. "You would expect the lobster to be perfect with just a little lemon zest and seasoning, but what it really needs is a strong, _vibrant_ hit of flavour to complete the dish - the lobster really _misses_ the sauce. It's almost... _bland_ without it." In that moment, Locatelli thought that there couldn't have been a single moment in all of the years he'd known Graham-Dixon where he wanted to hold the older man more - squeeze him tightly and bring him into his arms. Andrew wasn't looking at Giorgio - he simply couldn't anymore; he was looking down at his menu. Giorgio circled the table and, now, instead of standing at the opposite end, he was behind Andrew, studying the menu over his shoulder.

"Come 'ere - I find it easier to show you this way," Locatelli told him, in a settling manner - his bare arm - chef's whites rolled up the elbow - brushed against his partner's suit jacket, as he leaned forward onto the table, finding any way he could to make contact with Andrew and reassure him; reassure him that _this_ feeling he was having, was mutual - Giorgio missed him every day.

"I thought... when I decided to come here this afternoon... That I had something traditionally Italian on my mind," Andrew murmured, feeling Giorgio's presence behind him, "like 'Passera in crosta di basilico, patate, olive nere e salsa di pomodoro' _(__Fillet of plaice in basil crust, potato, black olives and tomato sauce.)_" Giorgio deliberately leaned over him, pretending to seek a better view of the menu - as if he didn't already know what was on it - pressing his chest to Andrew's back. "Or better still," and, what the silver-haired man would go on to say, would evoke an audible hitch of breath from the Michelin-starred cook, "Something Lombard - 'Agnello in umido, salsa al Chianti, polenta e peperoni' _(__Braised neck of lamb with polenta, peppers and Chianti sauce.)_" Like the polenta dish Giorgio had cooked for Andrew when he'd invited him to his family's home in Northern Italy, where Giorgio had shown Andrew his old room as a teenager, and his old _bed_ \- where they'd gone on to do what teenagers _inevitably_ do.

He remembered the lovemaking and the passion from that afternoon - the _danger_, and the thrill that came with it, of his family only being downstairs, almost within earshot, finishing off the dinner - and the thought made Giorgio increasingly desperate. "'Ave you considered the 'Calamarata, coda di rospo, salicornia, capperi, limone'? _(__Ring shaped pasta with monkfish, samphire, chilli, lemon, dry capers) _The monkfish is strong, meaty, but the _flesh_ is kissed gently by all these'a little pops of flavour - little dainty, wanting kisses of sharp lemon and salty samphire all over the _body_ of it." He sees, from above, the tips of Andrew's ears turning pink. "Or the 'Tagliatelle di castagne ai funghi selvatici' _(__Homemade chestnut tagliatelle, mixed wild mushrooms)_, where the 'omemade pasta is caressed, lovingly, by ingredients so wild and _intense_ that they'a _cannot_ be tamed."

"I think... I'll just have something light," Andrew smiled. "Sardine in “saor” - the sweet and sour sardines." He said nothing more - there were no innuendoes this time, or witty quips; he said nothing more, because he didn't _have _ to - Giorgio knew what this dish meant to Andrew and him choosing it spoke a thousand words or more, of his love, his devotion - his _longing_ for Giorgio - his man, his _amore_. Locatelli had cooked the sweet and sour sardines the on the very first trip they had taken together, to Sicily - the trip where they had gotten to know one another, at first slightly wary and unsure - after all, the pair were from such different walks of life, and Giorgio truly wondered if they would actually get on - or whether he'd end up wanting to throw Andrew into the Mediterranean. But, in time, they had grown to love one another, and - soon - sooner than anyone could have imagined - sooner than he'd fallen for _anyone_ \- fall completely in love with each other.

"Of course, Sir," Giorgio bowed, jokingly acting like a waiter, "Your favourite." What he hadn't told Andrew was that he'd only added the sardines to the Locanda Locatelli menu _after_ their trip - the dish being a part of Andrew's favourite ever pasta simply had to make it worthy of the cut. Not only that, but - genuinely - as corny as it sounded - every time somebody ordered it, there was a little surge of happiness in Giorgio's heart. And, now that he and Andrew were parted - until their next trip, wherever it may be - Giorgio would take whatever happiness he could attain in his absence.

"Tutto questo grazie a te," Graham-Dixon beamed. _All this thanks to you._

"I'll make sure to prepare it myself - exactly to your liking, Sir," he teased. The standing man took the menu off of Andrew and replaced it with another, smaller, card. "In the meantime, you can look at our desserts - samthing sweet to end your'a meal," he smirked at the presenter, knowing exactly what 'something sweet' he was thinking of, and how there could have been nothing sweeter than one last stolen kiss right now - but that was impossible, being surrounded by all of the restaurant staff and diners.

"_Italian honey? _" Andrew called out as Giorgio began to walk away.

"I'm sorry?" he retorted, promptly turning on his heel and glancing back.

"--That you serve with your Italian cheeses?" came a raised eyebrow from the man who was looking at his dessert menu, "I wanted to ask you more about it, if you don't mind."

Giorgio snorted uncontrollably with laughter and Andrew produced the widest ever - _ever_ \- grin.


End file.
